


Étouffer

by amuk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Break Up, Choices, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Introspection, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The red drowns her. Consumes her. There is a reason a troll has four quadrants. --John, Vriska</p>
            </blockquote>





	Étouffer

**Author's Note:**

> For: HS World Cup Bonus Round 1
> 
> Prompt: John <3 Vriska – Remember when John’s ghost self and Vriska dated for a while (but it all mysteriously fizzled out?) 
> 
> A/N: A bit of an experimental piece

He holds her hand, physical affection more his thing than hers. The warmth seeps from his skin to hers, keeping out the cold of his memories. As they walk, he turns to smile at her—all dorky-like with too much teeth and great big eyes.

 

His feelings radiate out of him.

 

And the red, the red of it all drowns her. Consumes her.

 

“I love you,” he confesses again, cheeks as red as the first time. He has yet to make it through that sentence without blushing once.

 

“Me too,” she responds, her words a mix of truth and lies.

 

Something is changing in her—she’s mellow. Soft. Kind.

 

Her passion a tamer kind.

 

His hand reaches for hers and she doesn’t protest.

 

 Just feels the chemical imbalance grow in her. 

 

A troll loves in four different ways. Red, Black, Pale, Flushed.

 

Checks and balances.

 

But here, in the isolated world of their memories, there is only John and Vriska.

 

There is only red, only flushed.

 

There are thousands of dream bubbles and she sometimes falls into a different one by mistake. Falls and meets a John who hates her, who loves her, who thinks of her as just a friend.

 

It’d be so easy to fill her quadrants with just John, to sink into the black and the pale. To find her balance again.

 

It’d be so easy, but she finds herself thinking of how replaceable her ghost is. How simple it would be to drift into a different one by mistake and just keep going there.

 

 

It is calm here, too calm. She finds herself more asleep than awake.

 

 

“Do you trust me?” she asks, watching his expression. There’s bewilderment and confusion at first, followed shortly by shock.

 

“I trust you now,” he finally answers, when he’s figured out how to use his mouth.

 

“And before?”

 

“I…” He stops, looking away, and thinks. Looking back, she can see the honesty in his eyes, a trait she both likes and hates. “You made me nervous. Like a loose cannon.”

 

“Cannon,” she repeats, liking the taste of it in her mouth. “Cannon.”

 

Gunpowder and explosions. A dark, _black_ feeling.

 

 

A spider can’t survive on only one meal.

 

 

She rolls the die, watching as it lands on eight.

 

It’s time to make a decision.

 

As she turns back to see John, with his too bright eyes and too bright dreams, she thinks she already made it a long time ago.


End file.
